Chapter 57: Baruch Studies Mussar Books

00:01 Continuing the story of young Baruch, we now come to the time when he began studying mussar books. They opened up a new way of looking at the world and at everything that happens in it. He began recalling events from his past and seeing them in this new light. That is what we will now describe: how Baruch came to view things that had happened to him differently. As he studied the mussar books and delved into them, he looked back on his former way of life with bitterness and began to question the quality of his character. Had he been walking the right path at all? Was his service of Hashem infused with the intention and feeling that every Jew should have? True, he had studied Torah diligently and tried to observe every mitzvah carefully. But he now felt that he was still lacking a great deal. Studying mussar led him to take stock of himself. For example, he used to give tzedakah from his last few coins, share his bread with the poor, help and serve anyone who was disabled or helpless, and from time to time join minyanim praying for the sick or for people facing other troubles. Yet none of this had stirred his heart or soul. His study of mussar now led him to conclude that everything he had done until then had been without heart or soul, done out of habit, without intention or feeling. The spiritual fire that the mussar books had kindled in Baruch’s soul melted his former coldness like snow. He became more sensitive, gentler, more open. He began to find deep, inner meaning in his studies, his prayers, and the good deeds he performed. In his new state, Baruch would compare himself with the person he had been before, and he remembered

02:46 certain events from his recent past. Once, for instance, while he was in Yanovitch, he was sitting and studying in the beis midrash when suddenly a terrible cry shook the air. A man and a woman rushed in, threw themselves before the Aron Kodesh, and began begging Hakadosh Boruch Hu to save their daughter from death. Other men and women followed and joined the parents’ prayers. They began saying chapters of Tehillim before the open Aron Kodesh. Everyone was overcome with grief and pain. Baruch watched the scene from the side. Of course, he naturally sympathized with the grieving parents, but deep down his heart was unmoved. Nor could it be said that the tragedy of a Jewish father and mother had shaken him: he went on sitting over his open Gemara and learning as though it had nothing to do with him. As far as he was concerned, his learning mattered more than anything else—and these were people he did not even know. He remained calm and indifferent even when someone burst into the beis midrash and announced that the sick girl was dying. Her mother fainted and fell to the floor. Her father wept still harder, beating his head against the Aron Kodesh and tearing at his white hair. The wailing of everyone in the beis midrash rose to the heavens. Baruch continued sitting over his Gemara, learning at ease. Later, Baruch learned that the parents who had come to pray for their daughter were among the city’s most respected people, known for their kindness and fine character. For many years they had been childless. They had traveled to tzaddikim for blessings and tried various segulos until Hakadosh Boruch Hu blessed them with an only daughter. She was the center of their lives. They raised her with great care and taught her good character traits, and she was a delight to her parents and a blessing to the townspeople. The father and mother rejoiced greatly when their daughter grew up and the time came to discuss a match.

05:28 As befitted a respected Jewish family, the parents sought a suitable match for their daughter, and indeed they found a young man who was learned and came from a distinguished family. The tena’im were written, and the wedding was set for two months later. Preparations were in full swing. The bride’s wedding gown had already been sewn. Everyone in Yanovitch and the surrounding towns was talking about the splendid wedding to come. Then, suddenly, the bride fell ill. At first they thought she would recover within a day or two, but it became clear that her condition was worsening. Day by day her illness grew more severe, until she was close to death. All of Yanovitch was in an uproar. Some ran to the cemetery to measure the ground; others rushed to the beis midrash and threw themselves before the Aron Kodesh. Several days passed. From his usual corner in the beis midrash, Baruch noticed tables being set. What were they putting on them? Drinks and refreshments. A large crowd began to gather. At the center of the celebration stood the very parents of the sick girl for whose recovery everyone had stormed the heavens. Baruch learned that they were celebrating because the young woman had regained her strength. The prayers had helped, and a complete recovery had been sent to her from Heaven. The wedding could take place on the appointed date after all, and her parents could lead her to the chuppah with joyful hearts. This celebration was a prelude to an even greater joy: the wedding itself. All of Yanovitch, young and old, took part in the great celebration. It was everyone’s joy. Each person in Yanovitch felt that the happiness was not the parents’ alone, but that he too had a share in it. Baruch was the only one who felt like a stranger to it all, as though none of it concerned him. He sat and learned undisturbed. When the noise of the celebration in the beis midrash grew louder, he went into a side room and continued learning there diligently, without feeling any of the joyous atmosphere in the beis midrash. Now, after Baruch had begun studying mussar books, he reproached himself for how indifferent and detached he had been. He knew it was because, at the time, only his mind had been engaged, while his heart and soul had remained cold

08:33 and unfeeling. But now Baruch felt his Jewishness in his heart and in the depths of his soul. He felt that he had begun walking the right path. He marveled at how he had managed until now without mussar books. He continued comparing his reactions to events in the past, and again remembered an incident he would now respond to very differently. It happened during Baruch’s second stay in Dobromysl, in the days before Pesach, when all the Jews were busy preparing for the holy festival. A Jew named Avraham Binyamin lived there. He was a learned man who earned his living through manual labor, cleaning wool and sorting it into different grades. It was hard work, and there was no possibility of becoming rich from it. But Avraham Binyamin had never sought wealth. He was content with little and satisfied that he could earn bread for his family. He had a large household. To begin with, he had seven children of his own to care for. In addition, his father and mother and his wife’s father and mother ate at his table; they were elderly and unable to earn a living. Naturally, Avraham Binyamin’s earnings were barely enough to feed so many people. Despite his circumstances and the hard work required to support his family, he did not bring his eldest son, then fifteen, into the workshop to help him. Instead, he sent him to yeshivah to study Torah. He also arranged for his other children to study Torah. Avraham Binyamin bore the burden of supporting his large family himself. Though he was poor, he gave generously to tzedakah. His home was always open to poor travelers, who found a place to sleep for the night and a meal to satisfy their hunger. Everyone in Dobromysl knew Avraham Binyamin—both his kindness and his poverty,

11:19 Yet he never wanted to rely on anyone’s help. He even refused to take an interest-free loan. When necessary, he put household possessions up for sale, until he had sold even his pillows. He sold his wife’s Shabbos lamp too, and she would light Shabbos candles in a clay lamp their eldest son had made. Avraham Binyamin, his wife, and the rest of the family treated that clay lamp as though it were a precious ornament. Avraham Binyamin had a set order when it came to food: first he made sure the elderly members of the family—his parents and his wife’s parents—had something to eat. Then he saw to his wife and children. He left himself for last. He would not sit down to eat until everyone else had satisfied their hunger. Despite the poverty and hardship, Avraham Binyamin was always cheerful and in good spirits. When asked how he was and how he was managing to make a living, he would answer, “There’s nothing to worry about. Shlomo Kalman is learning in yeshiva. Dovid Aryeh and Chaim Eliyahu are learning in cheder, and the little ones are beginning to learn to read.” He said all this good-naturedly and with a note of joy, much to his listeners’ surprise. Not a trace of bitterness could be heard in his words. He would add in all seriousness, “Why should I worry? We have a G-d in heaven. He will take care of me, my family, and all the Jewish people.” Sometimes Avraham Binyamin would joke at his own expense: “I’m very careful to keep the custom of fasting on Mondays and Thursdays. In fact, I fast on Tuesdays and Fridays too.” Still, everyone in Dobromysl knew that no home in town was happier or more cheerful than Avraham Binyamin’s. Anyone passing it on Friday night could feel the full meaning of oneg Shabbos. The house was sunk into the ground up to its windows. Its walls were propped up with logs to keep them from falling, and yet the windowpanes

13:57 were clean. The walls were whitewashed. A clean white tablecloth covered the table, and three wax candles burned brightly and cheerfully in the brass lamp. The two elderly couples—Rabbi Avraham Binyamin’s parents and his wife’s parents—sat at the head of the table, with Avraham Binyamin and the whole family around them. On the table stood a bowl of hot water in place of soup, and slices of bread were shared among everyone present. After eating the bread and sipping the warm broth, they all burst into Shabbos songs with great enthusiasm, as though they had eaten the finest Shabbos dishes. Then one weekday afternoon, while Baruch sat alone in the beis midrash learning, shouts and commotion were suddenly heard. Two or three Jews burst in carrying a man whose face was covered in blood and who looked half dead. People came in amid noise and tears. The injured man, it turned out, was Avraham Binyamin. What had happened? As Baruch learned, Avraham Binyamin had been found lying beneath a tree on the road to Babinovitch, not far from Dobromysl, battered, wounded, and covered in blood. No one knew what had happened, and they could not find out from the injured man himself. He was brought straight to Dobromysl, and because the beis midrash was closer than his home, they carried him inside. Soon the whole town gathered at the scene, and the cries grew louder. The town doctor came and began examining Avraham Binyamin. He was still alive, but the doctor was not sure he would recover from his critical condition. The people began saying Tehillim for him. Baruch joined in, but as he remembered it, his heart was not in it: he did not feel the sorrow everyone else felt. He felt like someone who had wandered into a strange world, where he walked alone and apart from everyone else. Now, through studying mussar texts, Baruch began to understand how serious his conduct had been at the time. He should have felt more of the sorrow and pain caused by the calamity that had befallen Avraham

16:48 Binyamin. It should have shaken him deep inside. More than that, the sorrow should have filled his heart even before the wailing rose in the beis midrash. He should feel another Jew’s sorrow and pain as his own. Baruch also recalled what happened next. For two full days, Avraham Binyamin lay hovering between life and death. It was heartbreaking when his family—his parents, his wife’s brothers, his wife, and his children—came to the beis midrash. Seeing him lying there half dead, they surrounded him with cries that immediately spread throughout the beis midrash. Some thought of taking the dying man home, but the doctor said it was better not to move him. Meanwhile, the doctor tried various treatments. Others agreed that he should stay, saying that Avraham Binyamin’s very presence in a holy place would help bring about his recovery. The people did not stop saying Tehillim, and the family poured out their hearts beside the Aron Kodesh. The beis midrash was never still for a moment. Everyone was either tending to the patient or praying beside him, though he showed barely any signs of life. During those days, Baruch walked around as though in another world. On the one hand, he did not feel the sorrow everyone else felt and so did not share their emotions. On the other, he could not retreat into his own world and immerse himself in his studies, because the commotion in the beis midrash was too great for him to concentrate. After Rabbi Avraham Binyamin had lain near death for several days, he suddenly opened his eyes, began breathing freely, and asked for a little water. It became clear that Avraham Binyamin had escaped death and was once again among the living. News that Rabbi Avraham Binyamin was out of danger spread quickly through the town. People came running again. There was great rejoicing. Everyone felt it was nothing short of a miracle, and the family’s joy knew no bounds. The doctor said that all

19:21 this had happened because of his treatments, while everyone else believed it was due to the prayers offered for the patient. In any case, Avraham Binyamin could now be moved from the beis midrash to his home. A few days later came Seder night. Avraham Binyamin was already able to sit at the table and celebrate with his family, amid the joy that was always felt in that home, now greater than ever. Indeed, all of Dobromysl rejoiced; everyone felt they shared in the joy of his rescue. Baruch, who had not fully felt the sorrow before, did not fully feel the joy now. He did not share in the experiences of the Jews of Dobromysl—or of Jews anywhere else. He lived in his own world, alone and withdrawn, cut off from everyone. But as Baruch now understood, that state of mind belonged to the past. It was as though he had entered a new world, a world of feeling, where the mind was not the only means of taking things in and sensing them; the heart and soul had a part as well. Now it was as though his inner self had found expression, and a bond had formed between his intellect and his feelings. He was beginning to become a different person, a whole person. The mussar texts had set him on a new path.